“Attracted by character! Pins and figs! My son is just like all the others, I am finding. He’s attracted by pink flesh. And as for heart and soul—all the women that Dick has known well have been women of refinement. He takes their purity and nobility for granted, as a part of womanhood. He thinks he’s marrying you and me. His reason has nothing to do with it.”
For the moment Madeline had no answer, and Mrs. Percival went on:
“It’s foolish to care what people say about your tragedies. Oh, you needn’t shake your head. This is a tragedy, Madeline. And I do care about the world. I hate to think of the whispering and gossiping because my son—my son—has fallen a victim to a cheap adventuress.”
“Nonsense,” Madeline broke out. “Miss Quincy isn’t an outcast, just because she has had the world’s cold shoulder. And people aren’t so silly as to let such external things prejudice them.”
“Don’t mistake me, dearie. I’m not taking exception to the girl because she works. We’re all—those of us that are good for much—the mothers and wives and daughters of men who work, and we share in their labor. I could admire and love a real worker, but this butterfly creature affects me like a parasite—a woman who wants to get and not to give. It’s just because I feel that she isn’t a real worker that I am afraid of her.”
“And that, even if it is true, may be only the result of sordid surroundings.” Madeline’s heart misgave her, for she had learned to respect Mrs. Percival’s judgments. “She’ll blossom out and add womanliness to beauty in such an atmosphere as you and Dick will give her.”
“Spontaneous generation will not do everything. You must have the germ of a heart before you can develop the whole thing. Do you think you can really change a girl who has lived for twenty years in the wrong attitude?”
“You are judging cruelly,” Madeline cried. “Of course every one has the germs of good.”
“And did it ever occur to you that the kind of love that Dick will give his wife may be too good—so far above a coarse-grained woman that it will not touch her comprehension? A lower grade of man might bring her out better.”
“It’s impossible to think of so exquisite a creature being coarse-grained,” Madeline exclaimed. “I, for one, am going to believe in her, and in a year, with you and Dick and mother and Mrs. Lenox and myself all backing her, you’ll be proud of her loveliness and tact. I shall be only Cinderella’s ugly sister. But you must not ever quite forget me, Mrs. Percival.” And Madeline laughed most cheerfully.